


Yes Sir, I Can Boogie All Night

by Eisenschrott



Series: The OT3 That Never Was [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Jealousy, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Body Play, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: Eliana Veers has been dead for years; courtesy of cloning and bureaucracy, she has been brought back to life. She isn't amused to find out her husband has gotten himself another partner in the meantime, and that said partner is just as ready not to give up on Max as she is.





	Yes Sir, I Can Boogie All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [_Yes Sir (I Can Boogie)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9WuY-vSYp8) by Goldfrapp.

“Is there anything on this ship that doesn’t come in grey?” Eliana muttered, her back to the turbolift wall.

“Sorry?” said Max. He came in grey, too—his uniform, his hair. She had been dead for eleven standard years, and he had been _aging_ for eleven standard years.

“I just don’t like this lift. It’s so narrow and cold it feels like being in the cloning vat again.”

“I thought you weren’t conscious while you…”

“I wasn’t, but that’s not the point, okay?”

They fell silent, bar the low hum of the lift.

“Actually,” Eliana spoke up, “it’s not the cloning vat. The brain scan chamber, rather. You know, the Hazardous Substances Scan and Decontamination procedure,” she rolled her eyes, “that my job contract said only in the fine print included a brain back-up. Since that’s when they did my latest back-up, it’s my last recollection.”

Max blinked. His frown softened a bit. “Were you uncomfortable?”

“I had a hard time not falling asleep as I lay in the scan chamber. Then I had just the peskiest itch at the tip of my nose, and I couldn’t scratch it.”

“Fine print,” Max said, disgust curling his beautiful mouth. “What they did was bloody dishonest. They should have made it clear to you and asked for your informed consent.”

He was right. She had almost slapped the cloning lab doctor after she’d explained the situation.  Yet, the doctor wasn’t here anymore, unlike Max. It was also Max’s fault they were on a Super Star Destroyer in the buttfuck-nowhere of interstellar space instead of home on Denon. “So you’re not happy I’m back, eh?”

“I _am_. Don’t try to turn this all against me.”

Eliana snorted, folded her arms and stared at the lift doors, pointedly away from Max. Guilt and self-loathing began burrowing their way under her anger; she ignored them.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Ahead of them stretched an empty grey corridor, that looked the same as every other grey corridor they’d walked through.

“So,” Max started as he ushered her out of the lift, “how long are you going to keep pouting?”

She snapped her head to aim the pout at him. It was met by his serious business face, with deeper and more plentiful wrinkles on it than the younger Max’s face that was stored in her memory. “Yes, I’m in a crap mood,” she said. “Thanks for noticing at last.”

“I understand it.”

“Huh, you understand. Then why are we going to the admiral’s quarters?”

“Because I always have tea with him after dinner, and he invited you too.”

“Max, for the love of the goddesses—”

“Not where cameras and microphones are,” Max growled under his breath.

The corridors of the _Executor_ had given Eliana the creeps since minute one. Now even more so. Pins and needles prickled at her skin, despite the Army-issue tracksuit having done a decent job at keeping her warm so far.

She spotted a security camera, small and dark on the ceiling, and huddled closer to Max. His arm wrapped around her waist. She breathed in his scent—the bland aftershave he used when away from home, the briny note of his skin and a touch of sweat that seeped into the synthwool uniform—and a shiver wiped away the pins and needles. Admiral Piett notwithstanding, Max was still here to protect her. To be hers.

She tilted her head a little to whisper into his ear, “Maxie, I love you.”

His lips covered hers, his tongue dipped into her mouth, and she let out a soft gasp as he pulled away.

“He loves me, too.”

Her brand-new insides twisted into a knot. It must have shown on her face, for Max asked, “Are you all right?”

Goddesses, no, she was not all right. Furious blood rushed to her cheeks. “No. My stomach thinks the mess hall food is duracrete.”

Max chuckled. Usually his laughter would infect her, but this time it stung; how the fuck did he miss the sarcasm? Was he missing it on purpose?

He went on, the tenderness in his voice conjuring up actual duracrete in her stomach. “I’m going to take you to a restaurant as soon as possible.”

“Take only me?”

Max paused. His smile faded. “It would be prudent.”

“Good.”

He knitted his eyebrows, but didn’t ask her to elaborate on what was good about him and the admiral having to be secretive about their... fling. _Up yours, Admiral_.

A few twists and turns of the monotonous dull blue-grey corridor later, Max had her halt in front of a cabin door. He inserted his code cylinder in the lock. “Be nice, Eli,” he said.

“I don’t want to be nice to him.”

A green light flashed on the lock, expelling the code cylinder, and the door slid open. The cabin was big by spaceship standards; the living room was furnished with a table, chairs, holoterminal, a Nutrimatic beverage dispenser and teacups arrayed nearby.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the plasto-canvas curtain at the end of the living room pulled open and Admiral Piett stood in sight. And not an impressive one: short stature, a paunch building up above his belt, and sunken eyes on a pasty flabby face. He was in full uniform and the military clothing did nothing to lend him charm.

“As always, General,” Piett said in a clipped Coreworld accent, “I’m glad you’ve come.” He sauntered towards them with his hands behind his broomstick-straight back, leaving the curtain partly open; Eliana could peek at a corner of bed beyond it. Coupled with the man’s ugly mug, it raised a fresh wave of nausea in her.

“Especially considering this unexpected twist of fate.” Piett cast an unreadable look on Eliana. “Mrs Veers, I assume Maximilian has told you everything about us?”

“He’s my husband,” she replied. “And I want him for myself.”

“An understandable feeling, ma’am,” his voice dropped ever so slightly and chilled her blood, “which I happen to share.”

Max huffed and stepped away from her. She tried to cling to the sleeve of his tunic, but this cloned body wasn’t as toned and fit as her old one, and he slipped away without even noticing. Max paced to the table, whipping his cap off, running a hand into his thinning, greying hair. “We’re off to a magnificent start, aren’t we?” He put the cap down, knocking his knuckles on the table. “Let’s make one thing very clear: I am not going to choose between the two of you. Firmus, you know perfectly well how important she is for me, so do not make me repeat myself on that topic.”

Piett blinked. That was all the emotion his blank face bothered to express.

“Eli.” Her name snapped on his tongue; it wasn’t a plea he was about to make, it was an order. She wanted to scream in protest, but his glare cowed her into another teeth-grit silence. “He matters very much to me. I’m aware you cannot wrap your mind around it, but he does. I won’t treat him like a replacement who can be discarded now that you have returned. Firmus deserves better than that.”

“Oh, Max,” Piett said in a soft voice, so incongruous with the uniform that it verged on obscenity. He cracked a little smile, too. Eliana’s skin crawled.

“Then how about he finds himself another man?” she said. “If he really deserves so much better than competing against me? How fair is it that you two are in a secret relationship, anyway?”

“Not so loud, missy,” the admiral growled, slanting a look at the closed door.

“It’s forbidden by the rules and regulations, isn’t it?”

“Eli—”

“What in blazes went wrong with you, Maxie? You are risking your precious career for this man, while you couldn’t be bothered to leave the army and care for Zev after I...”

Max’s eyes turned a bright clover under the frown; his mouth was a thin-pressed line and his fists clutched the back of a chair. Yet, he said nothing. His glower weighed on her like several metric cubes of water on a body at the bottom of the sea.

She got the courage to raise her voice again, “And you are ready to leave _me_ for him! Just... why?”

“I told you. Because I love him.”

A shiver ran down Eliana’s spine; her eyes went watery and she looked down at her running-track soft boots and blinked the tears away. Seconds crawled by in loaded silence.

Glass clinked quietly on the table, restoring the time-space continuum to a sort of normality.

“I hope you both like Corellian whiskey,” Piett said.

Eliana considered smashing the glass on his head. Then again, she did need a drink, no matter what the doctor who’d brought her suspended animation tank onto the _Executor_ had recommended about avoiding intoxicating substances.

The three of them sat at the table; the tumblers awaited full to the brim with dark orange liquid. Eliana grabbed her glass with the intention of chugging it in one go, but the tangy, salty scent alone made her halt the tumbler under her nose and inhale the aroma. The sheer sensory intensity made her head spin and tears well up in her eyes again.

“Are you okay, Eli?” Max asked. “Firmus, don’t you have tea or something lighter?”

“Tap water,” Piett retorted.

“I’m fine.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at the admiral in defiance. “I’m just trying to enjoy the finer things in life again.”

He held up his glass. “You have to drink it all in one sip. If you don’t, Corellian tradition has it that seven years of sexual impotence will befall—”

“Firmus, don’t make her do anything stupid,” Max said. The tumbler in his hand—bare hand, Eliana noticed; his gloves lay in front of him on the table—was half empty.

“Judging by the fierce look on her face,” Piett said, “your wife is going to do anything she wants, stupid or not.” He raised the tumbler. “To you, Mrs Veers.” And he drank it all without breaking eye contact with Eliana.

Show-off. Eliana brought the glass to her lips, tilted the whiskey into her mouth, and next thing she knew a river of lava was scorching everything in its wake. She coughed, nearly dropped the glass, and part of the liquid spilled on the front of her hoodie.

“Eli! Firmus, you bastard—I’m getting you some water, Eli, don’t worry.”

Between fits of coughing, she looked at Piett; bastard indeed, he was smirking. She took deep breaths to calm the cough, and when it eased a bit she ignored the water glass Max was offering her and downed the rest of the whiskey. The liquid courage flowed through now-desensitised parts and landed almost painlessly in her stomach. There, after a moment of delay, it threatened to sear a hole open. She braced herself with her elbows against the table edge. The crisis passed.

“Fuck’s sake,” she hissed, not because she wanted to, but her voice just came out like that, “they rebuilt me as a fucking lightweight.”

“Has she always been this potty-mouthed, Max?”

Max sighed, placing the water in front of Eliana. “Yes.”

“It’s fine, Mrs Veers. I would be angry, too, if I were in your predicament.”

“You can shove your sympathy...” She cleared her raw throat. “...where the stars don’t shine.”

“As a matter of fact, I usually shove your husband’s cock there.”

Eliana gasped. A fleeting thought reminded her of Max’s mother, that bigoted hag who would gasp like this whenever a HoloNet show dared broadcast a violent or sexy scene. The gasp triggered another coughing fit. This time she drank up the water, cool and delicious on the scorched earth left in the whiskey’s wake.

She felt the weight and warmth of Max’s hand on her right shoulder, and forestalled his concern. “Don’t... ask me if I’m okay again.” She was glad to see the serious officer’s mask had gone away, replaced by a meek and apologetic expression.

“He is right, though,” Max said in a flat voice. A red hue coloured his cheeks.

Piett met Eliana’s glower in silence; his smirk broadened into a sleazy smile, right before he downed a fresh full tumbler of that hellish whiskey. It didn’t add any beauty to him that he’d taken off his cap, his receding hairline and short thin piss-blond curls lay on display.

“I am so impressed,” she said, colder than a winter gale. “Now behold what _I_ can do, Admiral.” She grabbed Max’s tunic under the collar, and half pushed herself, half pulled him, into a kiss. She bit his lip, hard enough to tear a soft moan out of him, and plunged her tongue inside his mouth.

Max flinched, but didn’t break out of her hold. He let her tongue sweep all around, take in the hint of mess hall food in a symphony of wet noises. Eliana teased his inert tongue with hers until Max gave a shy push back. She retreated from the kiss with drool trickling at the corner of her mouth, which she wiped with the back of her hand as she cast at the admiral a more triumphant look than she felt.

If anything, that had erased the smug smirk and the sleazy smile. In their place was half-lid-eyed and pucker-mouthed boredom. “If it’s war of this sort you want...” He rose to his feet and snapped his fingers at Max to follow him. “Come to bed, General.”

“Firmus, this is not funny—”

“Do as he says,” Eliana cut him short. “I’m frankly quite curious to see for myself what you find so special about him.”

“You can _imagine_ what.”

Piett laughed, unbuckling his belt. The first, still innocent gesture of undressing shot a fresh shudder down Eliana’s spine.

“No, I can’t. And you’d have to show me anyway, if you really want both of us together.”

Max blushed to the tip of his ears. He opened his mouth and drew in breath for more protestation, then clammed back up without even trying. He got on his feet and followed Piett to the bed past the curtains, which the admiral pulled open for him to come in and for Eliana to watch through.

Max clasped his hands over Piett’s hips from behind him, turned him around to reveal the admiral’s tunic already unbuttoned and the lapel hanging over a plain black undershirt. The way Max watched him, intense, earnest... Jealousy tossed about inside Eliana like a fish trapped in a sawtooth gull’s beak. Her breath hitched when Max ran his hands up and down Piett’s chest, in a soft rustle of skin over fabric. Meanwhile, Piett sank his claws into Max’s arse.

They kissed. Eliana caught a glimpse of Max’s tongue flicking into the other man’s mouth. Max had returned Piett’s kiss, but not hers. Tension built in the muscles of her neck and shoulders, her fists clenched onto the table; yet, a puzzling traitorous heat began tingling under her panties. She crossed her legs tight.

Max’s left hand stroked all the way up to Piett’s head, tousled his hair in big kneading motions. Piett gasped softly, took hold of Max’s hand in his, and fluttered his tongue all over Max’s wrist. Max threw his head back, his eyes closed, breathing already laboured through his half-open mouth.

Eliana couldn’t help ogling in shock. Could it be a fault in the memories that had been uploaded into her new brain if, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember Max being into this sort of thing?

Piett swapped his tongue for his teeth, planting torturous open-mouthed bites all over those centimetres of skin that Max’s uniform sleeve left unclothed. Moaning, Max rolled his hips against Piett’s body. Somehow he gathered the lucidity to blink his eyes open and turn to Eliana. “Come here, Eli,” he breathed. “Please. Do... do it for me.”

Eliana pushed the chair back and leapt to her feet; the chair rattled to the floor behind her. Piett, still ravishing Max’s wrist, frowned at her.

“I’m doing it because it ruins his fun,” she retorted.

Piett’s mouth slowed to a nibbling as he watched her stomp closer. Eliana pushed him aside and went straight for Max’s crotch, palming it with both hands, squeezing his junk through the thick, hot fabric. He let out a growl and sank his face in the crook of her neck, then his hands on her chest; in one pawing motion he unzipped her hoodie, and his big hands massaged her breasts through her undershirt. He put enough strength in it that she moaned, the mixed thrill of pain and arousal stoking a first warm gush in her pants.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed into her ear, nipped at the lobe, and ran his tongue down her throat.

She realised that her hands had dropped, limp and shaking, at her sides. She held tight onto Max’s hips, hooking her fingers onto his belt, and pushed him into a swinging motion and on the bed, flat on his back. He grabbed the front of her undershirt and dragged her down with him, breaking her fall at the same time. Then his hands spread over her breasts again, squeezing and twisting harder, crumpling the fabric and groping for skin. His eyes gazed into hers, his mouth hung a little open, not smiling, letting out soft pants. His hard-on poked her between her legs, right where her wetness already seeped through her trousers.

Max’s chest heaved invitingly, hard and flat abs under a white synthcotton shirt that felt, under her palms, too light for the cold of space. She returned his touches, thumbing his nipples, tickling at the spot on the side of his pecs where he was so sensitive— _bet you didn’t know about this, Admiral_ —and tearing an ecstatic giggle out of him.

Her heart speeding up, Eliana grinned back at his laughter. _You’re still mine_.

Then she yelped as a slap landed on her ass, the loud noise startling her far more than the quick burst of pain. Hands that weren’t Max’s grabbed the waistband of her trousers and yanked them down. Eliana flinched and tried to turn around, but Max held her in place.

“What in blazes are you doing?” she snarled over her shoulder at the admiral.

He held up a small bottle. “You’re going to need lube, missy. You must be tighter than a blaster gun barrel.”

“Don’t fucking touch me again!”

Piett glanced away from her—at Max, she realised.

“Next time,” Max said, sitting up, “ask first.”

Piett shrugged. “Fair enough. I apologise, missy. But, from personal experience under your husband’s heavy artillery, I really insist that you—”

“Oh, shut up!” Eliana writhed out of Max’s hold, sat next to him on the mattress, and whipped off her hoodie, shirt, trousers and pants; when they got tangled in her shoes, she kicked them all off to the floor. Without deigning to give the admiral a single look, she returned to sitting astride Max’s lap; his face had reddened further. She rubbed her bare cunt against his groin, pressed herself to his chest, squeezing him as tight as her arms allowed her and covering his jaw and his neck and his lips in kisses. He reciprocated, open-mouthed, tongue swirling, the wet smacking noises of both their mouths drowning Piett’s muttered warning to not move so much.

She winced and froze when the stranger’s hands touched her again; a slick, oily massage, deep in the crack of her ass, spreading slick lube all over her hole and just barely reaching on a fingertip to the rear end of her labia. _That’s not where he’s going to—!_ , she meant to say, but it was tough to vocalise anything in proper Basic with Max’s mouth pressed to hers, his tongue lapping against her and all over her teeth. No more than an indistinct mumble snuck through the kiss.

One of Max’s hands caressed her hard across the shoulders. His palm, warm and rough on her soft skin, stirred shivers and gooseflesh, then reached up to cup the back of her head. There it gathered a fistful of her hair and pulled. It didn’t hurt, but it was strong enough to break the kiss. Eliana gasped, a string of saliva hanging between their mouths.

Max’s eyes were half-shut, bright green, his face flushed. He licked the drool off his lips and that peek of his tongue shot a jolt all the way down Eliana’s spine, to the wetness between her quivering thighs. She felt herself gush helplessly on Max’s trousers and on Piett’s hand. Goddesses, stripping naked so soon hadn’t been a good idea—

Max went for her throat again. A second mouth joined him, taking care of the back of her neck. She shook her shoulders, and the admiral used his teeth on her neck and a lube-slick fingertip into her hole, at the same time. Eliana made a jump, her nipples rubbing on something hard and cold on Max’s clothes. The finger turned inside her, and for a moment her body forgot even Max’s kisses to focus all on the new sensation.

“Relax, missy,” whispered Piett. “Don’t play heroine and tell me if I’m too fast or you need more lube.”

Max let out a moan. Goddesses, he liked this. Feverish hot visions danced before Eliana’s eyes: Max lying naked on his belly, the admiral fully clothed and sitting between his legs, touching him. Massaging and fondling his tightest part with slick fingers until it gave way, little by little.

She relaxed into the touch, let herself get used to it, even as Piett inserted another finger. Damn, that lube was good, and so where his hands.

At last, after a few final twists into her softened intimacy, Piett retreated his fingers and rumbled, “Max, she’s ready on the rear.”

Large, calloused hands stroked and held onto her hips, his thumbs digging into her hip joints. His tongue fluttered up the side of her neck, his hot breath pooled into her ear. “Eli... would you like to do it like that? I... I will make it good.”

“Is that how you do it with him?”

“Y-yes.”

Eliana remained still for a moment, her heart racing against Max’s heaving, entirely too clothed chest. She took a deep breath, and spat it out, “Fuck me in the ass, then.” As she spoke the words, her cheeks heated so much that a wave of dizziness washed over her. But she muscled on. “And, Max?” She pulled away and pointed an index finger to his face. “Don’t you dare hold back. I can tell when you hold back. I want you to do it like you do to him.”

“Oi, missy,” Piett grumbled, “do you mind not speaking of me like I’m not in this room?”

 _I wish you weren’t in this room, Huttfucker_.

“Firmus, a little help.” Max stretched out a leg. Piett’s face scrunched up into a pout, but he crouched and pulled Max’s boot off, then moved to the other.

Eliana planted a kiss on Max’s cheek. “Maxie, make him take off your trousers too.”

“Would... would you like that?”

“Hm-hm.” She planted her knees on the mattress, at Max’s sides, and lifted her ass off of his lap. She kept kissing him and added tongue and teeth, all along his cheek, his jawline, his earlobe.

“Firmus, you heard the lady... ah—!”

She chuckled into his ear.

Piett said nothing, or she didn’t hear him; at any rate, she didn’t care. Muffled by the slurping, smacking noises her mouth made on Max’s skin, there came the sound of a zip and a rustle of fabric. Max grunted in relief. A sharp pain stabbed Eliana’s right asscheek—teeth, a bite. After an instinctive wince, she held herself in check and refused to acknowledge Piett’s provocation; her kissing attack proceeded unperturbed. Underneath her, the tip of Max’s erection rubbed on her perineum, smooth with lube. A thought crossed her mind: just how _big_ was his cock, again? Had she forgotten?

“Turn around, Eli,” Max rumbled. “Turn around now.” It was an order, his voice low, thick with threat and arousal. Eliana’s heart stopped, then picked up at double the speed, flapping in her chest like a fish trying to writhe out of a net. She hurried to obey; goddesses, Max’s finally bare skin against hers—

He grabbed her thighs and roughly spread her wide open, lifted her a bit, poked into her hole, conquering her tightness centimetre by centimetre, barely giving Eliana time to get used to his girth, but fuck if she was going to stop him or beg for gentleness. She squealed in pain and pressed her eyes closed as tears welled up.

“Don’t be so dramatic, missy!” Piett piped in. “I’ve taken the trouble to lube up his shaft, in case you didn’t notice. It should slide in easily. For stars’ sake, relax! Do your bit. Are you even trying?”

She gritted her teeth, held onto the mattress with one hand and clawed backwards to Max’s hair with the other, and rolled her hips onto Max’s cock. Her ass was not as sensitive as her cunt, but the sensation of being filled and made to crack open made up for it. Max started moving in response, his hands clutching her tits and his mouth biting its way through her dishevelled hair, to her neck and shoulder.

Eliana cried out as her body shook in time with Max’s overwhelming thrusts.

It took her a moment to realise her cunt was tickling. She blinked tears and sweat off her eyes and looked down. Her jaw dropped and for a moment she forgot to breathe.

The admiral had knelt in front of her, between Max’s legs, and was fluttering the tip of his tongue over the outer folds of her cunt.

Her entire rational process freeze-framed there, her body limp and only moving because Max was moving, as she gaped onto Piett, still in his uniform minus his gloves, pressing his mouth to her labia. He gave them a kiss, a proper smacking kiss, and Eliana’s womb jolted. She winced back into life, bucking and gasping. Max reacted with a harder thrust, a breathy grown against the crook of her neck, and a durasteel squeeze on her tits.

Piett was so delicate on her most intimate part, instead... His hands rubbed soothing circles on the inside of her thighs, while he sealed his lips over a mouthful of her folds and suckled. The jolt this time was so hard she thought she was coming already, but it was just an instant; the recoil pushed her ass backwards, impaling deeper onto Max’s rock-hard member.

A soft, humming noise rose from Piett as he savoured her raw flesh and  oozing juices, his eyes shut. Eliana inwardly cursed the tuft of pubic hair blocking her full view of what Piett was doing to her cunt—damn, she’d had most of her body hair shaved after her awakening; pity she’d insisted for keeping that bit.

Piett dipped his head, swirling his tongue around her clit. Eliana’s chest was constricted in Max’s hands and the moan she let out was croaky, breathless. “Don’t... don’t...”

Piett slowed his ministrations to almost a halt, his lips just brushing the nub. Max thrust with less energy, too. “Too much?” he breathed.

Eliana gasped in exasperation, her eyes rolling to the ceiling as if she expected to find demideity Epshor there, spreading their wings and rolling their hips to hypnotise two dim-witted male mortals into a frenzy. Epshor lent her their strength. “Don’t stop, you bastards!” she shouted.

“Max, I’m startin’ ta luv yer wife,” Piett growled, drawling the words like he’d switched to an Outer Rim accent. He buried his face in her folds again, and Eliana felt teeth around her clit. Teeth and tongue, sealed lips, a hard suckle. Max pounded into her ass, faster and harder, shoving her body against Piett’s face. Eliana bucked and slumped forwards, the suddenness and intensity of the double stimulation blinding her and tearing her body deliciously apart.

Piett’s tongue slid down to her opening, lapped fluid off the folds and pushed inside her. His hands, all pretence to gentleness now lost, pawed at her hips, his nails raked all over her sweat-drenched belly, as if he were trying to carve his way into her, push in impossibly deep.

“Eli...” Max said, his voice a whimper. “Eli, touch him.”

She did, a shaky hand ruffling Piett’s hair and reaching down to stroke the bare, hot skin of his neck. Piett purred into her slit, resting his face against it and relaxing into her caresses. He kissed her folds and her clit again, as fond and grateful as if they were the lips of a lover. Then he staggered to his feet.

Eliana let out a sob as the cold air hit her soaked, throbbing, suddenly undefended cunt. She watched Piett, her mouth hanging open and unable to gather enough breath for words, as he leaned towards Max. The kiss, she heard it. Right beside her ear, long and slurping, and Max didn’t slow down his thrusts in her ass while it lasted. Through hazy eyes Eliana looked between her legs and—goddesses, there must be so much of those juices all over Piett’s mouth, and Max had... “Oh, Maxie...”

Piett pulled away and staggered off. Max was all hers again, moaning with each damp kiss and sharp bite he planted on her shoulder. His right hand let go of her breast; the tormented, overheated skin bubbled with relief when the cool air touched it. Eliana couldn’t feel her left breast, except for the ring of fire around her nipple, hard and ravaged under the pinch and rub of Max’s calloused fingers.

His free hand reached up to her throat, slipped a fingertip into her gaping mouth, sank into her hair. Eliana grabbed it, pulled it back to her face, and licked Max’s wrist like she’d seen Piett do—what was Piett doing now, by the way? What in blazes had he stopped pleasuring her for? She caught a glimpse of him standing by the cupboard at the side of the bed, holding a condom packet in his mouth while he stripped off his tunic.

Max rutted. “Eli—!” It was almost closer to pain than to pleasure. “Again—please... do...”

She planted breathless, loose-lipped kisses all over his wrist, making him pump unbearably harder into her ass. She mewled in fear, as she went on kissing, that he might shake her off his lap right now that he was so, so close.

“Almost—!” After that cry of warning, Max’s voice jumbled into a feral growl. A few more thrusts and he went rigid, roaring into the tangled cascade of her hair on her sweaty back. She felt or imagined to feel his essence spurting out, filling her, but oh goddesses, oh Epshor, she wanted more and she wanted to feel it with all the heat and the need of her throbbing sex. Whimpering while Max’s growling lowered to a wheeze, she thrust his hand down and rubbed it against her slit.

A pair of knobbly-kneed legs stepped in front of her, with a condom-jacketed dwarf space slug in the middle. For a moment she didn’t realise who it was. She just stared at the cock and wanted it.

Piett grabbed her by the wrists. “Get up, missy.” His voice was drawling again. “Don’t harm yerself, but hurry.”

It wasn’t easy with her legs numb and joints stiff from the uncomfortable position, but Max helped her with a gentle pushing. Well, it helped her slide his cock out of her ass, but the touch of his big, warm hands on the small of her back made her cunt spasm in frustration.

Piett pulled her to her very unsteady feet and shoved her spread-eagled to the mattress. The fresh but coarse blanket she landed on dispelled some of the lusty haze that Epshor’s wings had fanned over her. She watched Piett get on all fours over her, nude, his body pale and hairless except for the curls above his sex, a bit of paunch. An old man. Just like the old man Max had become.

He wasn’t even panting. His mouth was a tightly shut thin line, his eyes hard and unreadable as the scanned her up and down. The fighting side of Eliana’s mind was shouting at her legs to rise and lock around the man’s waist, draw him close and crushing, but she couldn’t move under that space-cold glare. The only noise in the room was her heart’s drumbeat, and the sound of Max’s wheezing breath.

Piett took his cock in a hand, pumped it a few times and guided it into Eliana’s cunt, deft and precise and almost painless, so lubricated was her slit. She threw her head back on the mattress as his bell-end hit just the right spot, retreated and hit it again, poking and stoking it rather than ploughing past like it was in Max’s style.

Piett gathered her legs under him, her knees touching her shoulders, and began thrusting in earnest. Faster than Max had been, the rhythm meant to please him rather than her. Well, fuck, Eliana didn’t care if he didn’t care. She rolled her hips along with his movements, receiving him as deep as he could break through. He groped at her breasts; his rough touch on the reddened skin made her squeal. Then his mouth shut hers.

Panting into heat that tasted like pussy and whiskey, Eliana held onto his shoulders, nails into skin, as he fucked her relentlessly. His mouth slid to her cheek, hissed Huttese words into her ear— _Huttese_ , for the goddesses’ sake, and it set her taut belly afire, made her moan louder and squeak in half-choked Hrönir, the words for _my love_ , _yes_ , _more_ , and the beginning syllables of a hymn to Yllagim for a fortunate marriage and a fertile womb.

Far away, she felt Max’s hand stroking her forehead, brushing her sweat-sticky hair back. It was as if he were touching her older, dead body, whose atoms now floated somewhere in the vacuum between Denon and the outer system’s moons.

One last thrust, deep, slow, a violent shudder running down his body, a scream in her ear—goddesses, no, not yet, not yet, not yet... Eliana shoved her pelvis up and down, took in every last bit of his hardness, until at last the orgasm washed over her, a series of storm waves rippling through her flesh.

She was already lying on her back but her body felt like it had just flopped down hard on the mattress, landed there from a fall that had lasted years and uncountable parsecs. It was so good to lie there, alive, and rest. Piett lay on top of her, a bit to the side so he wasn’t crushing her—was he being considerate on purpose? Eliana didn’t care. She just held him in a boneless embrace, her fingertips caressing the nail scratches on his skin.

Piett winced. He gathered himself on all fours, gave her a sleepy, grumpy look, and crawled off of her, muttering something about his knees killing him while he slid his pelvis down and his flaccid cock out of her cunt. Goddesses, where did such a small man find the energy to still move, and even grumble? Eliana couldn’t even raise her head.

She could see Max though, the frown on his face. “Firmus, is that blood?” There was a note of threat in his voice.

“It’s not my fault, you berk. Not much chance you can deflower a body in a cloning vat.”

“Oh for stars’ sake...”

Eliana wiped sweat off her brow. “I vanish for a standard decade and in the meantime, romanticism in the galaxy dies.”

“It’s never been alive in Firmus’ galaxy anyway.”

“Hmpf!”

Eliana rolled her head, on a cushion of dishevelled hair, to look at him. Piett was sitting on the edge of the bed, paunch on display, peeling the condom off his spent sex. He caught her stare and quirked an eyebrow. “Why, yes, missy, I _know_ that bare-backing feels better. But unwanted progeny is one risk I am not going to run.” Holding up the full condom, he got to his feet. He shuddered, maybe for the cold floor beneath his feet, and padded towards the ‘fresher at the end of the room.

“Bring back towels!” said Max. “And do... do you have something to treat bruises?”

“Yes, yes. How did a softie like you even make it to general—” The ‘fresher door slid closed and cut off Piett’s grumbling.

Eliana rolled to lie on her side, facing Max, and gathered her legs. Her crotch was damp, her thighs slick against each other; one had a little red streak on the skin, but she didn’t mind. “I’m cold. Come here.”

Max opened his mouth to offer some common sense about the blanket being warmer, but wisely closed it and crawled over to wrap her up arms and legs in an embrace.

“Too tight?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. It was like you had not touched a pair of boobs since our last night together.”

Silence fell, only broken by a splash of tap water and a voice whistling the Imperial March in the ‘fresher.

“Max? I... am not angry if you did...” Yet, her heart picked up speed. A tremor that wasn’t due to the cold shook her almost-new body. “I would just like to know.”

“Only Firmus.” He rested his right arm above her hip and stroked her back. She crouched up closer into his hold that fended off the chill, into his smell of sweat and musky testosterone, ignoring the achy bruises on her breasts as they were squished against his chest, the hair there tickling lightly her reddened, battered skin. Max kissed her forehead and whispered, “I want you both, Eli. I love you both.”

“Does Zev know?”

Max’s body tensed up. An animal, deep-buried corner of her brain sounded the alarm: _You’re small, sister, and he is big_.

“No. I haven’t commed him yet.”

“I don’t mean if he knows about me. I told you I want to tell him myself anyway. I mean, about you and the admiral.”

“Call him Firmus, please.”

“So he doesn’t?”

Max heaved a slow, deep sigh. The noise he made reminded Eliana a bit of a cryoseismic rumble. As much as she wanted to insist and being stubborn, she had heard one too many frost quake on the outer moons, before her death, to ignore that noise and the accumulated energy it was releasing, strong enough to crack rock from within.

“He’s a man now,” Max said, his voice low and rueful. “You won’t recognise him. Believe me, you won’t.”

Silence again. The water wasn’t flowing anymore. A discreet hiss, the ‘fresher door opening.

“Missy, if you and Max can stand on your feet, the shower’s free and there is a medpac on the shelf.”

Eliana propped herself up on an elbow. Her tits hurt just by dangling. “I won’t stop calling you admiral unless you stop calling me missy, Admiral.”

Max groaned, but Piett, who had emerged from the ‘fresher wearing a bathrobe the same dull grey colour as his uniform, just smirked. “The chance-cube is cast, missy.”


End file.
